apparently when the sparrows made their appearance. The sparrows made
many attempts to usurp the little house provided especially for the
bluebird, but were not allowed to do so and never gained a footing on
the premises; still the little spring harbinger ever after kept aloof
from us. In the winter season the English sparrow came occasionally
to share the bluejays' tidbits, but was promptly repulsed, although
other birds came freely. The dainty little snowbird, several kinds of
woodpeckers, now and then a chickadee, and some other winter birds
came also. I had ways of enticing the birds to come near where I could
watch their habits and peculiarities. All birds fear cats. There are
cats and cats--some never molest birds or little chickens, but, as a
rule, they seem to be their natural enemies. Little boys, I am sorry to
say, cause great destruction of birds, often thoughtlessly, by trying
their marksmanship. I would banish every "sling shot!" It is even
worse than taking eggs, for they are generally replaced; but when the
mother-bird is taken a little brood is left helpless to suffer and die.
Thoughtful kindness towards little birds should be encouraged among
children. I would have one day each year devoted to the subject in all
public schools. It would bring birds under the observation of many who
otherwise would pass them by unnoticed, and when one takes an interest
in anything, be it flowers or birds, he or she is less likely to cause
their destruction.
MARCH AND MAY.
"The brown, brown woods of March
Are the green, green woods of May,
And they lift their arms with a freer swing
And shake out their pennons gay.
And the brown, dead world of March
Is the living world of to-day;
Life throbs and flushes and flashes out
In the color and fragrance of May."
[Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
5-99
BONAPARTE'S GULL.
4/9 Life-size.
CHICAGO COLORTYPE CO.
COPYRIGHT 1899,
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]
BONAPARTE'S GULL.
(_Larus Philadelphia._)
LYNDS JONES.
The whole of North America is the home of this pretty little gull--from
the Bermudas to Labrador on the east, California to the Yukon on the
west, and from the Gulf of Mexico at least to the Arctic circle.
This species is often common near streams and other bodies of water
large enough to furnish their food of fish. I have often seen flocks
of twenty or more birds passing over central Iowa during the vernal
migrations, sometimes even stooping to snatch some toothsome grub from
the freshly turned furrow, but oftener sweeping past within easy range
in that lithe, graceful flight so characteristic of this small gull.
To the farm boy, shut in away from any body of water larger than an
ice pond, where no ocean birds could ever be expected to wander, the
appearance of this bird, bearing the wild freedom of the ocean in his
every movement, is truly a revelation. It sends the blood coursing
hotly through his veins until the impulse to get away into the broader
activities of life cannot be put down. I know not why it is, but some
birds, seen for the first time, seem to waft the perfume of an unknown
country to us, well-nigh irresistibly calling us away upon a new field
of exploration or endeavor.
The flight of Bonaparte's gull is worthy of careful study. In common
with the other members of the group of gulls, he progresses easily by
continuous leisurely wing beats, each stroke of the wings seeming to
throw the light body slightly upward as though it were not more than a
feather's weight. In the leisurely flight the watchful eye is turned
hither and thither in quest of some food morsel, which may be some
luckless fish venturing too near the surface of the water, or possibly
floating refuse. The flight is sometimes so suddenly arrested that the
body of the bird seems to be thrown backward before the plunge is
made, thus giving the impression of a graceful litheness which is not
seen in the larger birds of this group.
It is only in the breeding-plumage that this species wears the slaty
plumbeous hood. In the winter the hood is wanting, though it may be
suggested by a few dark spots, but there is a dusky spot over the ears
always. It seems doubtful if the birds attain the dark hood until the
second or third year, at which time they may be said to be fully adult.
It was formerly supposed that this gull nested entirely north of the
United States, but later investigations have shown that it nests
regularly in northern Minnesota and even as far south as the Saint
Clair Flats near Detroit, Mich. It may then be said to nest from the
northern United States northward to the limit of its range. It is rare
along the Alaskan coast of Bering Sea, and there seems to be no record
of it along the coast of the Arctic Ocean.
The nest is always placed in elevated situations, in bushes, trees,
or on high stumps, and is composed of sticks, grasses, and lined with
softer vegetable material. The eggs are three or four in number and
have the grayish-brown to greenish-brown color, spotted and blotched
with browns, which is characteristic of the gulls as a group.
While the gulls are fish-eaters and almost constantly hover above
the fishers' nets, often catching over again the fish which the
nets have trapped, we never hear of any warfare waged against them
by the fishermen. On the contrary, the gulls are always on the most
friendly terms with them, gladly accepting the fish found unworthy
of the market. But let a bird of whatever kind visit the orchard
or chicken-yard, for whatever purpose, and his life is not worth a
moment's consideration. We need again to sit at the feet of fishermen
as earnest inquirers.
EGG COLLECTING.
FRED MAY, School Taxidermist.
_To the Editor of Birds and All Nature:_
I am glad the magazine of birds is furnishing its readers so many
points about the good qualities of our birds. And as they are being
protected more every year by the state laws and by the lovers of birds,
I think they are sure to increase. I have often been asked about the
decrease in bird life. The blame is generally put on the taxidermist,
collector, sportsman, and schoolboy, which I claim is all wrong. The
taxidermist collector of to-day is a lover of bird-life, and only
hunts specimens to mount for a scientific purpose. This gives our
school children a better chance to study them. The schoolboy and girl
of to-day are doing great good in the protection of bird-life, and
your book of birds has a warm friend among them. The true sportsman
always lives up to the laws and takes a fair chance with dog and gun.
The plume and bird collector will soon be a thing of the past, as hats
trimmed with choice ribbons and jets are fast taking the place of those
covered with feathers and birds. Now the persons who hide behind all
these, and who destroy more bird-life in a single season than all the
hunters and collectors of skins, are never brought to the eyes of the
press. These are the people who have a fad for egg-collecting. They not
only rob the nest of its one setting, but will take the eggs as long
as the bird will continue to lay, and, not satisfied with that, will
take the eggs from every bird as long as they can find them. They will
even take the eggs after incubation has begun, and often-times, after
a hard climb for the eggs, will destroy the nest. There are thousands
upon thousands of settings of eggs of every kind taken every year by
these fad egg collectors and you will see in some of our magazines on
ornithology offers of from fifty to five hundred settings for sale.
Now, what is an egg to this egg collector? Nothing. But to the lover of
birds there is a great deal in that shell. There is a life; the song
of the woods and of the home. In that shell is the true and faithful
worker who has saved our farmers and our city homes and parks from
the plagues of insects that would have destroyed crops and the beauty
of our homes. Shall the law allow these nest-robbers to go on summer
after summer taking hundreds of thousands of settings? If it shall I
am afraid the increase in our bird-life will be slow. With the help
of our game wardens and sporting-clubs a great deal of this could be
stopped, and a great saving could be made in game birds' eggs. Our
country school children can protect our song birds' nests by driving
these collectors, with their climbing irons and collecting cans, from
their farms in the breeding-season. Yes, it often looks sad to see a
song bird drop at the report of the gun of the skin collector. But when
we think of the bird-egg collector sneaking like a thief in the night
up a tree or through a hedge, taking a setting of eggs on every side
while the frightened mother sits high in the tree above, and then down
and off in search of more, only to come back in a short time to take
her eggs again--what is bird-life to him? What would he care to be
sitting in the shade by the lake or stream listening to the song of the
robin, or after a hard day's work in the hot summer, be seated on his
porch to hear the evening song of the warbler and the distant call of
the whippoorwill? Let the lovers of bird-life commence with the spring
song, with the building of the nest, and save each little life they can
from the egg collector. Will this man, if he may be called a man, look
into his long drawers filled with eggs, and his extra settings for sale
and trade? Let him think of the life he has taken, the homes he has
made unhappy. I should think he would go like Macbeth from his sleep to
wash the blood from his hands.
[Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
5-99
COMMON BABOON.
1/3 Life-size.
COPYRIGHT 1899,
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]
THE BABOON.
Naturalists seem to be agreed that the baboons (_cynocephalus_),
while one of the most remarkable groups of the monkey family, are the
ugliest, rudest, coarsest, and most repulsive representatives of it.
The animal stands in the lowest degree of development of the monkey
tribe, and possesses none of the nobler shapes and qualities of mind
of other species. Aristotle called the baboons dog-headed monkeys, on
account of the shape of their heads, which have a resemblance to that
of a rude, fierce dog.
The baboons are found throughout Africa, Arabia, and India. In the main
they are mountain monkeys, but also live in forests and are excellent
tree-climbers. In the mountains they go as high as nine thousand to
thirteen thousand feet above the sea-level, but give preference to
countries having an elevation of three thousand or four thousand feet.
Old travelers assert that mountainous regions are their true home.
The food of the baboons consists chiefly of onions, tubers, grass,
fruit, eggs, and insects of all kinds, but, as they have also a
greedy appetite for animal food, they steal chickens and kill small
antelopes. In plantations, and especially vineyards, they cause the
greatest damage, and are even said to make their raids in an orderly,
deliberate, and nearly military manner.
Brehm, who observed them closely, says that they resemble awkward dogs
in their gait, and even when they do stand erect they like to lean on
one hand. When not hurried their walk is slow and lumbering; as soon
as they are pursued, they fall into a singular sort of gallop, which
includes the most peculiar movements of the body.
The moral traits of the baboons are quite in accord with their external
appearance. Scheitlin describes them as all more or less bad fellows,
"always savage, fierce, impudent, and malicious; the muzzle is a coarse
imitation of a dog's, the face a distortion of a dog's face. The look
is cunning, the mind wicked. They are more open to instruction than
the smaller monkeys and have more common sense. Their imitative nature
seems such that they barely escape being human. They easily perceive
traps and dangers, and defend themselves with courage and bravery. As
bad as they may be, they still are capable of being tamed in youth,
but when they become old their gentle nature disappears, and they
become disobedient; they grin, scratch, and bite. Education does not
go deep enough with them. It is said that in the wild state they are
more clever; while in captivity they are gentler. Their family name is
'dog-headed monkeys.' If they only had the dog's soul along with his
head!" Another traveler says that they have a few excellent qualities;
they are very fond of each other and their children; they also become
attached to their keeper and make themselves useful to him. "But
these good qualities are in no way sufficient to counterbalance their
bad habits and passions. Cunning and malice are common traits of all
baboons, and a blind rage is their chief characteristic. A single word,
a mocking smile, even a cross look, will sometimes throw the baboon
into a rage, in which he loses all self-control." Therefore the animal
is always dangerous and never to be trifled with.
The baboons shun man. Their chief enemy is the leopard, though it
oftener attacks the little ones, as the old fellows are formidable
in self-defense. Scorpions they do not fear, as they break off their
poisonous tails with great skill, and they are said to enjoy eating
these animals as much as they do insects or spiders. They avoid
poisonous snakes with great caution.
This animal is said to be remarkable for its ability in discovering
water. In South Africa, when the water begins to run short, and the
known fountains have failed, it is deprived of water for a whole day,
until it is furious with thirst. A long rope is then tied to its
collar, and it is suffered to run about where it chooses. First it
runs forward a little, then stops, gets on its hind feet, and sniffs
the air, especially noting the wind and its direction. It will then,
perhaps, change its course, and after running for some distance take
another observation. Presently it will spy out a blade of grass, pluck
it up, turn it on all sides, smell it, and then go forward again. Thus
the animal proceeds until it leads the party to water. In this respect
at least, baboons have their uses, and on occasions have been the
benefactors of man.
The baboons have, in common with the natives, a great fondness for a
kind of liquor manufactured from the grain of the _durra_ or _dohen_.
They often become intoxicated and thus become easy of capture. They
have been known to drink wine, but could not be induced to taste
whisky. When they become completely drunk they make the most fearful
faces, are boisterous and brutal, and present altogether a degrading
caricature of some men.
As illustrating the characteristics of fear and curiosity in the
baboon, we will quote the following from the personal experience of Dr.
Brehm, the celebrated traveler. He had a great many pets, among others
a tame lioness, who made the guenons rather nervous, but did not strike
terror to the hearts of the courageous baboons. They used to flee at
her approach, but when she really seemed to be about to attack one of
them, they stood their ground fairly well. He often observed them as
they acted in this way. His baboons turned to flee before the dogs,
which he would set upon them, but if a dog chanced to grab a baboon,
the latter would turn round and courageously rout the former. The
monkey would bite, scratch, and slap the dog's face so energetically
that the whipped brute would take to his heels with a howl. More
ludicrous still seemed the terror of the baboons of everything
creeping, and of frogs. The sight of an innocent lizard or a harmless
little frog would bring them to despair, and they would climb as high
as their ropes would permit, clinging to walls and posts in a regular
fit of fright. At the same time their curiosity was such that they had
to take a closer look at the objects of their alarm. Several times he
brought them poisonous snakes in tin boxes. They knew perfectly well
how dangerous the inmates of these boxes were, but could not resist the
temptation of opening them, and then seemed fairly to revel in their
own trepidation.
THE SUMMER POOL.
BUCHANAN.
There is a singing in the summer air,
The blue and brown moths flutter o'er the grass,
The stubble bird is creaking in the wheat,
And, perched upon the honeysuckle hedge,
Pipes the green linnet. Oh! the golden world--
The star of life on every blade of grass,
The motion and joy on every bough,
The glad feast everywhere, for things that love
The sunshine, and for things that love the shade.
THE FEATHER CRUSADE.
E. K. M.
Just as the Audubon societies and the appeals of humanitarians in
general have had some effect in lessening the demand for the aigrette
for millinery purposes, and their banishment, as officially announced,
from the helmets of the British army, there springs up a new fashion
which, if generally adopted, will prove very discouraging--especially
to the birds.
"She made a decided sensation last evening at the opera," says Miss
Vanity's fond mamma. "Those blackbirds with outspread wings at either
side of her head were simply fetching. They drew every lorgnette and
every eye in the house upon her. Not a woman of fashion, or otherwise,
I venture to say, will appear at a public function here-after without a
pair of stuffed birds in her hair."
A melancholy outlook truly, though as an onlooker expressed it, the
effect of the spreading wings was vastly more grotesque than beautiful.
The poor little blackbirds! Their destruction goes on without abatement.
"I like the hat," said a gentle-looking little lady in a fashionable
millinery establishment the other day, "but," removing it from her
head, "those blackbirds must be removed and flowers put in their place."
"A member of the Audubon Society, probably," queried the attendant,
respectfully.
"No," was the answer, "but for years the birds have been welcome
visitors at our country place, great flocks of blackbirds, especially,
making their homes in our trees. This year, and indeed the last, but
few appeared, and we have in consequence no love for the hunters
and little respect for the women who, for vanity's sake, make their
slaughter one of commercial necessity and greed."
'Tis said fashion is proof against the appeals of common sense or
morality, and one must accept the statement as true when, in spite of
all that has been said upon the subject, the Paris journals announce
that "birds are to be worn more than ever and blouses made entirely
of feathers are coming into fashion." The use of bird skins in Paris
for one week represent the destruction of one million three hundred
thousand birds; in London the daily importation ranges from three
hundred to four hundred thousand. It is honestly asserted that, in the
height of the season, fifty thousand bird skins are received in New
York City daily.
At the annual meeting of the Audubon Society of New York state a
letter was read from Governor Roosevelt in which he said that he fully
sympathized with the purpose of the society and that he could not
understand how any man or woman could fail to exert all influence in
support of its object.
"When I hear of the destruction of a species," he added, "I feel just
as if all the works of some great writer had perished; as if one had
lost all instead of only a part of Polybius or Livy."
Rev. Dr. Henry Van Dyke sent a letter in which he said the sight of an
aigrette filled him with a feeling of indignation, and that the skin
of a dead songbird stuck on the head of a tuneless woman made him hate
the barbarism which lingers in our so-called civilization. Mr. Frank M.
Chapman, at the same meeting, stated that the wide-spread use of the
quills of the brown pelican for hat trimming was fast bringing about
the extinction of that species.
In front of my pew sits a maiden--
A little brown wing in her hat,
With its touches of tropical azure,
And the sheen of the sun upon that.
Through the bloom-colored pane shines a glory
By which the vast shadows are stirred,
But I pine for the spirit and splendor
That painted the wing of that bird.
The organ rolls down its great anthem,
With the soul of a song it is blent,
But for me, I am sick for the singing
Of one little song that is spent.
The voice of the curate is gentle:
"No sparrow shall fall to the ground;"
But the poor broken wing on the bonnet
Is mocking the merciful sound.
GOD'S SILENCE AND HIS VOICES ALSO.
DR. N. D. HILLIS.
Nature loves silence and mystery. Reticent, she keeps her own counsel.
Unlike man, she never wears her heart upon her sleeve. The clouds that
wrap the mountain about with mystery interpret nature's tendency to
veil her face and hold off all intruders. By force and ingenuity alone
does man part the veil or pull back the heavy curtains. The weight of
honors heaped upon him who deciphers her secret writings on the rock or
turns some poison into balm and medicine, or makes a copper thread to
be a bridge for speech, proclaims how difficult it is to solve one of
nature's simplest secrets. For ages man shivered with cold, but nature
concealed the anthracite under thick layers of soil. For ages man
burned with fever, but nature secreted the balm under the bark of the
tree. For ages, unaided, man bore his heavy burdens, yet nature veiled
the force of steam and concealed the fact that both wind and river were
going man's way and might bear his burdens.
Though centuries have passed, nature is so reticent that man is still
uncertain whether a diet of grain or a diet of flesh makes the ruddier
countenance. Also it is a matter of doubt whether some young Lincoln
can best be educated in the university of rail-splitting or in a modern
college and library; whether poverty or wealth does the more to foster
the poetic spirit of Burns or the philosophic temper of Bach. In the
beautiful temple of Jerusalem there was an outer wall, an inner court,
"a holy place," and afar-hidden within, "a place most holy." Thus
nature conceals her secrets behind high walls and doors, and God also
hath made thick the clouds that surround the divine throne.
CONCEALMENTS OF NATURE.
Marvelous, indeed, the skill with which nature conceals secrets
numberless and great in caskets small and mean. She hides a habitable
world in a swirling fire-mist. A magician, she hides a charter oak and
acre-covering boughs within an acorn's shell. She takes a lump of mud
to hold the outlines of a beauteous vase. Beneath the flesh-bands of
a little babe she secretes the strength of a giant, the wisdom of a
sage and seer. A glorious statue slumbers in every block of marble;
divine eloquence sleeps in every pair of human lips; lustrous beauty
is for every brush and canvas; unseen tools and forces are all about
inventors, but they who wrest these secrets from nature must "work like
slaves, fight like gladiators, die like martyrs."
For nature dwells behind adamantine walls, and the inventor must
capture the fortress with naked fists. In the physical realm burglars
laugh at bolts and bars behind which merchants hide their gold and
gems. Yet it took Ptolemy and Newton 2,000 years to pick the lock
of the casket in which was hidden the secret of the law of gravity.
Four centuries ago, skirting the edge of this new continent, neither
Columbus nor Cabot knew what vast stretches of valley, plain, and
mountain lay beyond the horizon.
If once a continent was the terra incognita, now, under the microscope,
a drop of water takes on the dimensions of a world, with horizons
beyond which man's intellect may not pass. Exploring the raindrop with
his magnifying-glass, the scientist marvels at the myriad beings moving
through the watery world. For the teardrop on the cheek of the child,
not less than the star riding through God's sky, is surrounded with
mystery, and has its unexplored remainder. Expecting openness from
nature, man finds clouds and concealment. He hears a whisper where he
listens for the full thunder of God's voice to roll along the horizon
of time.
THE OWLS' SANCTUARY.
PROF. HENRY C. MERCER.
Seven bluish-white, almost spherical eggs, resting on the plaster floor
of the court-house garret, at Doylestown, Pennsylvania, caught the
eye of the janitor, Mr. Bigell, as one day last August he had entered
the dark region by way of a wooden wicket from the tower. Because the
court-house pigeons, whose nestlings he then hunted, had made the
garret a breeding-place for years, he fancied he had found another nest
of his domestic birds. But the eggs were too large, and their excessive
number puzzled him, until some weeks later, visiting the place again
(probably on the morning of September 20), he found that all the eggs
save one had hatched into owlets, not pigeons.